Of Leaves and Stubble
by Write-stories-not-tradgedies
Summary: "That small bit heap of leaves and stubble, Has cost you many a weary nibble! Now you are turned out, for all your trouble, Without house or holding, To endure the winter's sleety dribble." prequel and sequel to Of Mice and Men.
1. That Little Bit

Author's Note: This is just a character study that got out of hand. Chapter length will vary and depends on how busy I am. It does not matter if you haven't read Of Mice and Men, this Fanfiction will go through the events in the book, giving you a general knowledge on it's content.

Please remember that I still need feedback on it and my writing skills are a little bit rusty so don't be too harsh. Thank you!~

Chapter one: That Little Bit

The sound of children echoed gleefully throughout the small town as the autumn breeze blew quietly bringing the inhabitants of Burden, sweet relief. This year Autumn had been unusually warm for Kansas but the locals welcomed it. It allowed them to greet each day with a sluggish hello and each night with a restless and excitable goodbye. Summer always brought life to Burden but Autumn brought the smell of pies baking the air and new fashion that made all of the females go mad and quickly scramble towards the post office to make orders for multitudes of new dress and caps from fancy designers whose names were too hard to pronounce.

The annual festival is what made Autumn the best season out of the year. The Children dashing in between carts full of baked goods and crafts made from the older citizens of Burden, caused smiles to appear on the elder's faces. It also provided a hub for gossip and other conversations while maintaining an atmosphere of togetherness, along with small traces of bitterness that fortunately didn't spoil the mood. The festival helped the farmer make a profit before the brutal winter began to knock on their doors, which never took long in Kansas . Farmers made up most of the town and were the backbone to the community so there was always pressure to bring in the biggest harvest which always caused rivalry between the townsfolk which could never be healed by time.

James and George Bowen owned one of the biggest farms in Burden and were looked upon to bring the biggest harvest each year. Their farm had been passed down from George's great grandfather, to his grandfather, to his father and so on. They both lived in a small faded blue house a few miles away from town. The solitude of the farm always gave James some sort of comfort, it allowed him to not be bothered by gossip or the angry sighs of the other men.

James was a tall man, with very distinct features that separated him from the other men in piercing blue eyes were an oddity along with his dark blond hair which was always messy and unkempt. His face was usually covered in specks of dirt and grime from the day's work, but of course the women in town never minded, the more rugged the better. His father, George Bowen, was a stern man with hair that could never decide whether it was an extremely dark brown or a lighter shade of black. Wrinkles had caused such a carefree face to turn to one that was now cold and full of was a very harsh man and once his mind was made up, his decision was set in stone. James admired how strong minded his father was, but his bitter coldness in his dark brown eyes always seemed to shake him to the was never an honest man and everyone in town knew that.

Just like his father had been George was a very slippery man that always made excuses when due dates arrived and made fake tears when needed. The people of Burden always refused to buy his produce due to his nature but his son on the other hand was the complete opposite. He was kind, gentle ,and never spoke much to begin with so it wasn't that hard to see why the town's people flocked to him like chickens to seed.

He was glad that the boy could have more use besides just sitting on the roof all day staring at the skies. He would always have to find a broom and knock it against the ceiling just to get the boy out of his thoughts and back to work; it quickly became a pattern. Growing up James was a very simple child, never asked for too much or for too little and always kept his mouth shut until he was spoken to, which was a godsend to George. At age ten, James was promptly removed from school to begin to tend to the farm with his was never important in the first place, James's life was here on the farm and that was final. Bsides,James himself never complained anyway. But, George could see a faraway twinkle in his eyes, like the object of his desire was always too far to reach.

He always hated that look it reminded him of his mother, Margo. She was always full of dreams that everyone in town knew she couldn't was stubborn that woman, never content with anything, always asking questions, and worst of all she could not keep her damn mouth it was understandable that whenever she wanted to voice her opinion on topics at town hall meetings she was always met with a stern glare from George and small giggles from the town. He always wondered why he even married her in the first place all those years ago. And now that James had the same damn twinkle, George was always curious to what was on James's mind all of the time but never bothered to ask.

All men deserve their secrets right?

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James himself was only twenty- five but like his father the wrinkles of stress were beginning to become clearer and clearer as the days passed. It was a rarity that sweat didn't cover his brow and that his body didn't ache from the strenuous work that had to be done to keep the farm running.

After a long day of work James came sauntering back home on Lucy, his Clydesdale horse in tow. She was a beautiful horse with a midnight coat and white fetlock fur that covered the bottoms of her muscle toned legs. She neighed in discomfort as James lead her back to her stable, her coat was slicked with sweat and caked dried dirt which made it very uncomfortable to walk even at such a slow pace. His muscles were screaming in agony of being overworked and his body felt like it was filled with denim overalls and brown boots were covered in dried feces and mud which released a foul stench that he was tired to care about. He dropped off Lucy in her stable and walked back to the house which was unusually quiet.

His father always left the radio on to keep up on current events around the state and especially when government problems arose and it was rare when the sounds of economic chatter didn't fill their home. They were one of the few people in the town who owned a radio except for the one in the Barbershop that the town had gathered up money to buy. James quietly took off his shoes and stepped through the house to find a change of clothes, trying his best not to get dirt on the carpet. After changing and leaving his shoes on the porch, He quickly took a seat on small wooden chair in the dining room that always seem to creak in discomfort whenever he sat in it but never break surprisingly. As he eased into the chair, his thoughts seemed endless. He shut his eyes only for a moment. Trying to find comfort in his rapid thoughts was a challenge ,but it was where he felt the best. His memory was always a hazy thing for him but if he concentrated enough they became clearer, well as clear they were going to be.

He remembers whenever that his mother embraced him, he was smothered with her wonderful lavender scent that always seemed to calm him. He remembers her light blond hair that looked white in the right light and her caring smile that always understood his childish idle troubles. She was so hopeful about the future because she had plans. Plans she never told him about but always promised to tell to him in due time, which always frustrated him to no would rarely leave the house, if he remembered correctly, but she would on occasion leave to sit in the many rows of corn with her leather bound journal in hand and her small worn out black pen with faux gold trimmings. She spent most of her time on their property, tending the chickens and other remedial tasks that James could easily do in a heartbeat; but she always quietly explained how she did not want to embarrass George further with her presence in town and shushed James when the topic of leaving the house arose.

The front door opened quietly and the sounds of footsteps became evident but James was still engulfed in his thoughts. As George entered the house it was the smell hit him first. It caused his eyes to water slightly but he persevered long enough to find James lounging at one of the dining room chairs. He raised an eyebrow, how could he be so calm when the home reeked of feces and who knows what?

"James!", His voice boomed; the sound resonated throughout the house and caused James to fall out of his chair with a ungraceful crash.

He quickly picked himself off of the dusty floor boards to answer his father's question with groggy "yes."

"Get up and find where that damn smell is coming from." His voice was still rough, but it had lost it's brutality.

James nodded quickly and walked quickly into his bedroom to retrieve the soiled clothes from earlier. He walked past his father with his clothes, soap and a small silver pail in hand head low trying his best not catch a glance at his father's unforgiving stare. The well that they owned was a few yards away from their house, indoor plumbing would have been a godsend right now but as his father always told him "there ain't point in wishing for things that won't come." He walked as fast as he could trying his best to breathe from his mouth to keep the foul stench out and clean air in. When he finally did reach the well, he quietly went to work on filling up the pail with water and trying to make as much bubbles as he could which was quite fun in his opinion. After washing the dirt and grime from his working clothes he walked over to the clothing's line and hang the wet clothes to dry. He began to make his way with his pail to the stable, the soft murmurs of the live stock made him smile and pick up the pace. As he washed the grime off of Lucy' s coat, he softly whispered his hopelessly scrambled thoughts trying to regain the clarity he had obtained earlier.

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The warmth of fall grew colder and colder as the days went by. The people of Burden were quite worried that the festival would have to be canceled, but only time would tell. The usual warm breezes were replaced by cold strong winds, which meant less time on the roof for James. He tried a few times putting on his warmest clothes and climbing up using small footstool that laid in untrimmed grass around the outside edges of the house, but the thought of getting sick when there was still so much work to do scared him. George was also on edge too. His outburst of sudden anger grew more frequent due to the fact that he was so worried about this years harvest. If the frost came too soon is could mean death for the many rows of corn and other produce, which meant less money and wasted effort. As days turned to into weeks they both harvested what they could, spending hours of back-breaking work in the freezing cold. Even with their heaviest jackets the bite of frost always nipped at their bodies.

They were lucky to finish earlier than the other farmers, whose worried glances made the tension in the town escalate. The usual merry atmosphere that was common with the families at this time of the year was smothered. The children were wrapped carefully in layers and were hushed when pleas of playing outside left their mouths. Burden was always careful in times like this, medicine was not a luxury that they had or could afford. Sickness was not an option, so even when the slightest signs of winter appeared children were rushed into their houses while their parents worked tirelessly in the field to harvest what they could for storage and canning.

When James awoke to the sound of coughing his heart stopped. After putting on some pants he rushed out of his small room and into his fathers. George was laying on his back, redness covered his skin in large blotches and sweat dotted his brow. As James began to move a few steps into the room, George's bloodshot eyes shot opened, filled with confusion that James had never seen before. Like his mother, George always had a fierce certainty in his eyes that never wavered or faltered until now.

The room was silent for a few moments before George's coughs began to sputter out in rapid succession out of chapped lips. James' jaw tightened, even if he ran as fast as he could or find Lucy it wouldn't be fast enough, he was never fast enough. Polio was a killer that rarely showed it's face here in Burden but James had some knowledge of it. Knowledge that he wished he didn't have.

"James", his father whispered dryly, his eyebrows furrowed in concentration. Every word counted.

"Yes?" He replied in a monotone voice, trying to keep his voice from wavering, but it did slightly and he knew George could tell.

"This Farm is gonna be yours soon, I can feel it", the knot in his throat deepened his voice into a bitter tone. "I don't want you to worry none, I'll be just fine." Lies always worked best in these kind of situations.

"I knows Pop, I can handle it," He whispered calmly,back looking down at his dirtied white socks.

There was another long silence that seemed to suffocated them both in a thick cloud of tension. Neither of them spoke a single word. James continued looking at his feet , while also admiring the small details in the wooden floorboards. While George only stared at his son awkwardness trying his best to not focus on the constant spasm in his legs that pained him immensely.

"JAMES." He exclaimed loudly, weather in anger or pain he was not exactly sure.

James looked up slightly deciding to settle his focus on his father's forehead.

"Listen to me damn it," George huffed in discomfort. "I needs you to tell me something alright?"

James nodded,"What is it?"

"Where do you go all the time in that silly little head of yours," He tried to keep his voice steady but the spasms were getting worse and tears pricked his eyes.

James shook his head in in acknowledgement,"I can't really say, it's everywhere and then some."

"Jus' tell me God damn it," George hissed through clenched teeth. The spasms had just begun in his arms.

James shifted slightly and sighed, "I just think a lot a-and my mind wanders a bit, ok."

George scraped his tongue against his teeth to preoccupy his mind,"Keep talking."

James blinked in confusion."Well, I just don't like talking much so I not quite sure what you want to hear, but I'll try."

So he did. He stringed long sentences together that made no sense to George but he still listened. James did manage to crack some jokes in between his thoughts which George caught and chuckled lightly at. James told him about the girls he saw in town that always spoke to him in such a fond spoke about the other farmers and how their faces would redden as they dragged their wives away from him, George gave another silent chuckled. After a few hours James had found himself sitting on the floor next to his father's bed, the sound of his breathing resounded in the room calming them both.

"Hey Pop," James said softly, laying his head on the bed to look up at him."T-tell me about Ma."

His demand held still in the air, but after a few minutes George began to weave a story like no other.


	2. Chapter 2

It was rainy spring morning in Winfield, the town was bustling as usual and the chatter of the residence signaled that today was going to another good day even if the weather didn't agree. George bowen, a cheeky young lad as most would say, walked calmly on the dirt road hands in his pockets towards the school that was a few yards ahead. He was careful to try not to get his his black slacks and his white blouse like shirt dirty. This outfit also doubled as his church clothes and mother would kill him they even had a spec of grime on them; so he walked at a slow pace to keep from stepping in undesirable substances. When he did walk into the school, late as usual, Mrs. Pauline gave him one of her signature and-where-were-you glares that he always loved and sat down at a small wooden desk in the back of the classroom trying to block out the snickers of his made a small growling sound soft enough that only the students could hear and the noise stopped abruptly. The lesson today was on math which was a different language to him entirely, so he allowed his eyes to drift away from the board and onto the details in the room.

After a few minutes his eyes scanned the entire classroom, though the class was tiny, there was so much diversity between the students. Not in their skin tone of course they were all the same in that aspect, but in the small features that nobody else looked hard enough to see. those differences were what he loved to figure out. Thomas stillman, a pudgy boy, had a small black mole right under his left nostril that he always tried to cover up with his hands and Sarabella harrison's hair was alway had grains of salt sprinkled in at the top of her head, at least that's what it looked like to him. Georges smirk grew as he tried to figure out more of the differences.

Ida and Florence Camello the twins of the class who were exact in every way, were a challenge. After a few minutes of concentration, George could easily point out which twin was Ida and which twin was Florence. Since they both had to look proper for school every morning, their mother Mrs Kathleen had their hair tied identical tight bundles of orange curly hair. Ida's hair had more volume than Florence so her bun was always slightly bigger which angered Florence to no end. Personality wise, Ida herself was a very timid girl and Florence was more fearless and it was very rare to see Ida take charge in any situation they were in. Florence always had to drag Ida to places around town for her own version of "fun" which usually meant an afternoon full of terror for poor Ida. George giggled lightly at the thought of Ida's worried expression as she was half dragged to Florence's chosen destination but after realizing the whole class was staring at him he stopped.

"Is there something you would like to share George?" Mrs. Pauling asked in a calm tone. Her eyes questioned him slightly and her lips was pursed in thin line.

He shook his head and turned back to the board.

This was going to be a long day.

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After a few hours, Mrs. Pauling looked at her small watch that she kept in her desk drawer and dismissed the class. As each child left the classroom she promptly gave each child a soft pat on the head and a firmer one on George's head of course for misbehaving. He grumbled lightly in discomfort but continued on to walk back home. The sun hung low in the sky as he continued his tread, his house wasn't that far away so he would probably get there before dark. George gave a soft mumble of bane, these damn clothes always chafed and the collar of his dress shirt was always too tight. The cool air gave some relief to his body and he made a mental not to make a fuss to mother about it when he got home. When he arrived at the gates of his house he slipped through the gates and began to run towards the front door not caring about the smidgens of dirt that had began to collect on the tips of his shoes.

When he reached the door he knocked softly on the wood until the sounds of feet shuffling grew closer. The white door opened and his father's calculating eyes landed on him.

"Well hurry on then, I don't got all day," he whispered sternly as George shuffled past him and into the house.

House was an understatement; his home was more like a mansion than some of the houses the common folk lived in. It was more extravagant than need be with large black gates and hand painted details on the exterior that took years to finish. His father had insisted on them , saying that one's house is his castle and there was no arguing with that. George ran up the stairs and past his mother who managed to grab his arm before he could struggle out of her tight grasp on his arm.

"And to where were you going," She said in a very cold tone, this was a bad sign.

"Just to my room mother. I just wanted to go read." He answered quietly, that was the worse lie he had told in years.

"You. Reading." She raised an eyebrow. "That's almost as rare as your father smiling. Now hurry up and give your dear old mother a hug." she said as she engulfed him in a hug pressing soft kisses to his slightly sweat forehead.

George giggled. "I'm not a baby ma"

She stopped her kisses for a moment."If you're not my baby, I will have to find another."

His giggles stopped as he settled into her arms,"But who could replace me?"

"A puppy may work, but they always cause my dear nose to itch."

"How about a kitten," he said quietly, eyelids beginning to flutter closed.

"And what will I do with that?" She squeezed him tighter. "Though cats can cuddle, but they cannot speak to me or tell me their thoughts on things nor can they bring as much joy to me as you do. It is only you George, my little Georgie.."

"Here to stay and here to love always." He finished softly as his mind began to drift away from consciousness.

His mother smiled as his breathing began to stood up carrying him in her arms and quietly making sure she hugged the walls of the hallway to keep from stepping on the creaking floorboards. When she arrived at Georges room, which was covered in wooden toys and other little machines he tinkered with. She smiled softly at them as she laid him on his bed, pulling a light blue blanket over his body while kissing his forehead one last time. Ernest watch carefully, his chilled gaze studied her movements. He ran a hand threw greased back hair and sighed. Eli was the best at taking care of children. She had grown up as the oldest in a family of eight so her maternal instincts were instilled in her at a young age. Ernest cleared his throat quietly to alert Eli of his presence which earned him a soft smile and a shush. She gave George's head one last soft pat and stepped out of the room to Ernest.

"Don't you think he's too old for this." Ernest said in a borderline whisper eyes staring at down at her.

"Of course not," her light blue eyes stared up at his brown ones. "He's only seven Ernest. He's still a child."

Ernest sighed and shut George's door before returning to the sitting room where a now warm pot of tea laid on a small table. He quietly gave a mental thank you to the maid, who had already left, and began to pour himself a cup. Eli watched him from the kitchen. It was a rarity to see Ernest so relaxed. The stress of work always left him so rigid and defensive so she avoided him as much as she could. Ernest was a hardworking man who she had met when she was only twenty-four and was finally able to leave her duties at home in Hartford and move into Winfield for a new start. She remembers it like it was yesterday. Boarding the train with her luggage and cream colored ticket in hand while softly kissing the tear streaked faces of her younger siblings. But this was something she needed to do and she was certain that her Emma, her sister that was only a year younger than her, could handle . There was money in the bank that she had saved over the years and she remembered to leave specific directions on the management of the house. Their home lied deep in the countryside and was too small to fit all of them anyway, but if Eli could manage it Emma could too.

Eli came first, with big milk chocolate eyes and unruly black hair, then Emma came a year after. Their looks were quite similar and they could easily be mistaken for twins, which was a hassle when they were young. After Emma came, Steven was born then Jane. they were only a few years apart but were inseparable. It was a rarity to find Steven without Jane and vice versa but if they were something was terribly wrong. Arthur was born five years later. He was a very easily agitated child whose tantrums always caused a ruckus in the house and landed him in the corner, which he hated immensely. And Lastly, little Minnie was born. She had big curious brown eyes that always melted the hearts of her siblings and gave her an advantage when it came to the small treats that Eli brought home after work. Minnie was a silent child who never spoke a word and used soft grunts and whines to communicate what she wanted. Emma tried her best to work with her, but Minnie always tended to lose focus and liked meander around the house then stay for the , after three years of only noises from the child, the word "Elwe" left her mouth and baffled everyone. Eli had employed Emma to take care of Minnie most of the time and it was a rarity that she even had to time to spend time with the child, but the nickname stuck like glue and she was Eli ever since.

Her mother, Melody was full of so much hope and joy once. She would play games with her smaller siblings and made sure that the older girls in the family didn't feel left out. When she was little, Eli remembers begging to have her name changed to Melody because apparently Elizabeth was too boring. This always brought a smile on her mother's face and made her father chuckle and ruffled her black father was so carefree in every way and there was not a mean bone in his body. He was calm when Steven broke one of the windows with a small stone and only scolded him in a soft voice while making plans to get the window fixed. He could be stern if needed but that side of him rarely showed.

He loved his family more than anything so when he decided to leave to go fight in the war and never returned the impact was catastrophic. The night before his departure, Melody begged him not to go but he kissed her deeply and hugged her in a tight embrace without promising anything and disappeared in the night never to be seen again. The years after were hard. John had always taken care of where the food came from and Melody was still in a self imposed shock that she refused to free herself from, so all of the jobs were left to Eli to do. She was only eighteen when she got a job in a Cotton Mill working her hands to the bone spinning cotton into long strings and onto larger spool. Her pay was small and her hands were always covered in cuts and friction burns but it kept them all a float. That was all that mattered anyway.

Now that she was older emotions from her mother were a rarity. She used to be an inspiration when Eli was little but her determination to do things grew weaker as the days past. She spent most of her time in her room not doing much of anything, lost in thoughts that she never vocalized. Her siblings only gave her a small greeting when bringing her meals to her room but they were always returned with only fleeting glances in their general direction. When she did speak came out in soft squeaks that barely anyone could decipher besides Eli herself.

Before Eli could board the train Melody grabbed the sleeve of her dress and whispered, something in her ear in a cold tone that she will never forget.

"When you find the one, cling to him and never let go because when you let your grip loosen you will find yourself in a hole that even God won't be able to get you out of."

After she looked at her mother long and hard but the loud whistle of the train broke her concentration. She got on the train and watched her dear family from one of the windows. White Handkerchiefs blew in the wind to see her off and the tears of sadness had quickly been replace with new tears of joy. The train lurched and began to move as she looked at her mother's face which had a light smile that she hadn't seen in years. Tears began to brim her eye, maybe this was a bad idea. She could always stay for a while longer just to make sure that Emma really understood her instructions. She also wanted to watch Minnie grow a-and promised Arthur that she would help him build a sailboat that she had bought for him with extra pocket money she had. And who would watch over Steven and Jane? There was still so much to do and there was no way she wanted to leave now. She stood up with her luggage and made her way to the wooden doors in the train but was stopped by the conductor who grabbed her arm.

"Let me go!" she exclaimed hoping that causing a ruckus would help her. She needed to go back,they needed her. She struggled as much as she could and she could feel the stares of the other passengers pierce her back, which left a very uncomfortable feeling in her stomach but she didn't care.

"The Train is in motion," he said sternly. "We cannot stop, I'm sorry." He said enclosing her in a small tight hug that was more awkward than comforting, but it helped somewhat. It's purpose was to hold her long enough for the train to gain speed and it worked but it left him in an awkward situation, the worst sort.

She wormed her way out of the embrace and back to her seat in one swift movement. The conductor stared at her, his dark mahogany eyes began to show slight signs of worry. It was his first day here on this train and he never expected it to turn out like this. He stared at her face, Her rosy cheeks moist with tears caused a lurch in his gut so he softly walked across the train car, trying his best not to stumble. He did manage to keep his footing for the most part but his black shoes caught on the red corduroy carpet that covered the train. With a large boom, his could feel his head make contact with the carpet and his black conductor's hat landed right at her weren't alone in the car so the sounds of chortles from the other passengers rang loudly in his ears and a soft shade of red made it's way to his cheeks. He got and brushed off the dust from his black vest. He looked up at her face now the tears had vanished and were replaced with an eruption of giggles that made him blush harder. He sat down next to her looking down at the carpet instead of her warm eyes.

"Oh come on."She said quietly. "It was funny,lighten up and crack a smile."

He looked up at her only to stare at her eyes and said nothing, she frowned slightly.

"Well okay then, you grump. I think we got off on the wrong foot," She said holding out her hand."I'm Elizabeth Kingston and you are?"

He cleared his throat to try to look more professional but it backfired ,"E-Ernest, Ernest Bowen."

And the rest was history.


End file.
